


hourglass

by blueberrydonut



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Eret-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Light Angst, also ghostbur, and friend, the funny little blue sheep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrydonut/pseuds/blueberrydonut
Summary: On a frigid winter night, the echo of an old friend comes to visit.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	hourglass

“Hello!”

An amiable, hoarse voice echoed over the whistling winter wind. As Eret squinted into the blizzard, he barely identified the outline of someone standing just outside the archway.

The image of a worn general flickered in the snow, before melting into a torn mustard-yellow sweater. 

Under layers of lavish clothing, Eret shivered. “Wilbur?” 

The apparition took a step forward--and blue-colored wool followed, led gently by grey, crumbling hands. “Hello! If it’s not a bother, can we take shelter here for a little while? Just until the snow stops.”

Eret blinked as snowflakes whisked through the outside air, erasing specks of the figure’s dull skin. “Sure,” he croaked, nearly tripping over his gown as he stepped away from the entrance.

“Thank you!” Wilbur ushered the sheep into the castle, noiseless shoes moving on the floorboards. He knelt next to a barrel, delicately knotting the lead around its handle. 

Once the animal was secure, Wilbur turned to Eret. “This place is lovely. I’ve seen it in the distance--from near L’manburg--but I’ve never actually gotten close. I don’t think I have, anyway.” 

“I appreciate that, Wilbur. Truly. It’s--” Eret’s hands twitched at his sides. “It’s been a while. Since we last spoke like this.”

“Oh!” Wilbur gestured to himself. “I’m Ghostbur, not Wilbur.” 

“You--” Eret frowned, his eyebrows pinching. “What?”

“ _Wilbur was the bad guy._ I’m not him--he’s dead.” The smile Wilbur--Ghostbur?--wore was patient. Kind. “But I remember the good things from when Wilbur was ‘round! Like Phil ‘nd Tommy and other good things.”

The cold bit his fingertips. Eret shuffled a little closer to the flickering torchlight. “Good things.”

“Yeah! When I try to have a think--about not-so-happy things--my head gets all fuzzy and I just end up forgetting again.” Wilbur put his hands together. “But that’s okay! If there’s something I can’t remember, it probably wasn’t worth remembering in the first place.”

“Oh.”

The ghost’s head tilted to the side, curly brown hair sliding over his forehead. “Have we met before?”

A rush of bitter air flew into the entrance hall, ruffling Eret’s dress. “No.” He straightened his crown. “No, we haven’t.”

Ghostbur’s eyes brightened. “What’s your name, then? I’m Ghostbur--but I already told you that.” Light, childlike laughter bounced on the stone-brick walls. Ghostbur motioned to the sheep, skipping on his feet. “And that’s my friend, Friend! That’s what I’ve named them. Phil says Friend can never die. Isn’t that great?”

“Yeah. That’s--that’s very nice. I’m, uh--” His stomach wrenched. “I’m the king.”

“Ah. Do you not have a name? That’s fine! Friend didn’t have a name for a while, either!” Ghostbur leaned forward, and his hands flickered. For a split second, black fingerless gloves bound his dull skin--fingers appearing charred at the tips. “I love Friend. I met them when Dream sent me off into the woods. They came up to me and nuzzled my hand.”

Eret moved closer to the sheep, lowering himself next to it. He reached up, running his fingers through the wool. “You’ve dyed them.”

“Yes!” Ghostbur plopped onto the barrel, his legs dangling over the sides. “They’re blue! I like blue. It reminds me of the sea. It also reminds me of Phil’s sword. It was blue--the one he stabbed me with was, anyway. It was pretty. Blue is pretty.”

Eret’s hand paused. “I thought--I thought you only had good memories?”

“I do!” 

Ghostbur swayed, humming a wistful tune that brought back the smell of fresh cookies and gunpowder.

“Eret.”

Ghostbur’s fingers slipped on the quill he was holding. His eyes snapped up from the journal he was scribbling in, lips parting.

“That’s my name,” Eret continued, swallowing the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. 

“Oh.” The ghost moved slowly, reaching for the lead. “You’re from the song.”

“Yeah.” 

  
“ _You’re the bad guy.”_


End file.
